11/22/2007

Screed magnet motorhead said "I am ghetto war slave" as she drove long nails into the knave. She brave, enmeshed in a maze. This day, this minute, hopping like an unkilled snapper on a skillet. I don't look, stare into sidewalk air, this jazz evening green tea becomes me, I haven't revealed the rules while winning the game, which isn't entirely fair.

Unlike tall soda boys, loud tweedy-duddies, we don't speak like sentences tend to speak, spoken thoughts unbroken plots and narrow corridors. I don't publish, I don't petition, I sit at home and read books about investments and nutrition. I have 5 minutes to write this, so I've lost after having 11 days to fight this. We build it up, it overflows, who will click? Thickness that sickness, sun of a brickness.